Day of Fire
by DeadlyRecon
Summary: -SCRAPPED-
1. Prologue

_**A/N: Attention all readers! Please be aware of the fact this short story has been abandoned and is not going to be finished. For more details and to be rerouted to my current work in progress that has replaced DOF, please fast forward to chapter four, labeled 'Final Note'. If you would still like to read what little I have committed to Day of Fire, than by all means continue on and enjoy.**_

* * *

 **Day of Fire**

 **A Mass Effect 2 Fan Fiction**

 **Prologue**

Other than the occasional discharge of an electrical spark from a breach in the ceiling and one of the lights above stuttering on and off, the Normandy's briefing room was unsettlingly quiet. Twelve individuals stood around the single table occupying the space, it's usual clean and polished wood now scraped, dented, and chipped in numerous locations. They were a ragtag team of brave men and women, all turned brothers-in-arms by mutual struggles, an ever escalating conflict, and an all-too-important mission with nothing more than the fate the galaxy hanging in the balance. Now here they were, the most dangerous people in the known universe, unable to speak in the wake of what had happened and everything that has yet to happen. Eventually, unable to tolerate the laconism any longer, a single man spoke from the end of the table. The black N7 armor he wore, its red stripe running from the top of his right shoulder to the end of his wrist, always seemed to garner the attention of those around him with ease. "Alright, what's our sitrep?" His voice was calm and focused, yet hinted with a sense of urgency. It sounded almost electronic as it was emitted through the vocalizer of the black combat helmet that encompassed the entire man's head.

The feminine, accented voice that was the first to reply held no hesitation. The strength within it was accompanied by a similar electronic echo as the words passed through the speakers of a helmet. "The ship's engines are offline and the Eezo core's stability is fluctuating." The man in black-clad armor looked to the right of the table to focus on his Quarian Chief Engineer now speaking. Purple was her defining color; nearly every inch of her clothing was covered by it. The only exceptions were the black of her environment suit, the bright gold of her neck piece, and the lighter shades of the patterns and swirls that decorated her hood. Even the visor that protected her face from both harm and viewing was purple. " _Keelah_ , that Collector cruiser hit us hard, even with the upgrades to the Normandy's armor and shielding. The crash landing didn't help either."

"Is there anything we should seriously worry about?"

"Thankfully, no. I have my team working on emergency repairs, but..." Her head shifted down a bit, her almond shaped eyes, glowing through the visor, displayed a small level of uncertainty. "I don't know if the Normandy will be flight-worthy anytime soon."

A quiet sigh escaped the man's mouth. "I'm sure they'll pull through, Tali. You've taught them well since coming aboard."

The Quarian raised her head, a new confidence burning through her body language. If not for the mask, a small smile would have been on display for all in the room to see. "Thank you, Shepard."

Commander Jonathan Shepard, former Earth Systems Alliance marine and current Citadel Council Special Tasks and Reconnaissance operator, nodded in acknowledgement and grinned slightly under his helmet. Only the woman he loved, Tali'Zorah Vas Normandy, could have caused such a thing while under the terrible circumstances they now faced. Seeing her confident in her abilities and the team of engineers she turned into experts never ceased to bring a warm peace-of-mind to the spectre. The reality of the situation, however, came rushing back, forcing him to drop his smile and refocus his attention. "EDI, what do our casualties look like?"

A synthetic female voice reverberated throughout the room, originating not from a single point. It spoke with a precision and stability that could only be expected of an Artificial Intelligence, though the voice still maintained a level of humanity and emotion. "A total count of nine crewmen have been administered to the Medical Bay, Commander. Six are suffering from minor injuries and two are currently in critical care. One marine had succumbed to his wounds and is confirmed KIA."

"Better than I expected," the commander admitted with another solemn sigh. "Who was the marine?"

"Corporal Nathan McKenzie of Charlie squad."

Shepard lifted his hands from the conference table and straightened his back as he cast his gaze upon every person in the room. "Nathan McKenzie's death will not be in vain. Neither will the death of those who haven't yet met their fate. I swear my life on it." There was the smallest hint of anger beside his conviction and he clenched his fists. "Now if you ask me, it's time to blow this damn space station to hell."

A round of agreeing grunts and murmurs sounded off from the group. Grunt, the tank-bred Krogan warrior, slammed his fists together with a roar. Of all the races in the galaxy, his people looked more like bipedal dinosaurs than anything else. They even had small, lizard-like tails. It would be unwise to say that in an insulting manner, however. They were just as dangerous and sometimes bloodthirsty as the long extinct animals that once roamed prehistoric Earth. "Whenever you're ready, Shepard," the Krogan said with a smile. "The last thing they will know is the name of my battle master as we crush their skulls under our feet!"

"What's the plan, Commander?" Shepard looked to the far side of the table to his left to see Miranda Lawson wearing the full regalia of her white, black, and gold painted Cerberus armor. Her normally long, jet black hair was now tied in a bun on the back of her head, allowing the secure use of the helmet wrapped under her right arm. The Cerberus operative wore a faint smile on her lips, something rarely seen.

"EDI, pull up the 3D map." No sooner had he finished the command did a holographic projection of the entire Collector stronghold appear over the center of the table. With it was the layout of a large portion of the colossus station's interior. Hundreds of rooms and corridors were mapped out by the Normandy's scans, but in actuality it appeared more like the hive of an insect species. There was no strict organization to any of it. No elevator or obvious signs of advanced architecture. Every stretch of space curved or twisted in irregular fashions. What made matters worse for navigation was the fact the majority of the inner parts of the station had appeared to be too deep for the scans to penetrate due to jamming. Some of the tunnels became incomplete once they reached a specific point while others looked as if they simply stopped at a large space in the center of the space station. "If I may have all of your attention.

Upon our emergency landing on the outer hull of the Collector station, EDI managed to identify a large energy reading deep within the base before enemy jammers disrupted our scans." An orb of light subsequently appeared near the exact center of the holographic vessel above the table. "As to what it is, EDI can explain."

The AI seamlessly continued for Shepard. "If the brief scans I ascertained are correct, the large signature of energy is believed to be the station's mass effect core. Its approximate location is within a large central chamber, surrounded by hundreds of inactive life forms. Given the circumstances, it is more than likely these are the missing colonists."

"If these mappings are accurate, the primary Command and Control Center is situated within the same chamber," Jacob Taylor said matter-of-factly. The ebony skinned former Alliance marine's arms were crossed and his stare remained on the holographic display, analyzing it with the mind of a soldier.

Miranda, with her Australian accent, seemed to continue his train of thought. "All of our objectives are in the same general area. That makes our job considerably easier."

Jacob interjected before anyone could respond to the woman. "That area is the heart of the station. No doubt it's going to be heavily defended." He looked to the commander with the strict intention of providing experienced insight. "Anywhere we hit, the Collectors will respond in strength."

"Which is why we split into two teams," Shepard declared. On cue, indicators appeared on the hologram displaying two separate routes from the Normandy crash site leading to the central chamber. "Alpha and Charlie squads, call signs King and Whiplash, will proceed down the route most likely to encounter the heaviest resistance. Squads Bravo and Delta, call signs Spearhead and Tomahawk, will move along the secondary route and keep the Collector forces off balance."

"King and Whiplash will need to get through those bulkhead doors blocking the way." Garrus Vakarian pointed his talon near the end of the first route on the holographic image. The Turian was still wearing his blue armor that had been damaged during his final hours as the vigilante Archangel on Omega. His scarred right face a grim and lasting reminder of those days. "A few satchel charges or thermite might do the trick. Knocking a few things down with explosives here and there never let us down before, but it will take time. Time we might not have while under fire."

"He is correct," said Thane Krios, the Drell assassin. "The Collectors will overwhelm us before we can achieve a controlled detonation large enough to blow through the doors. If I may make a suggestion?"

"Your insight here is appreciated just as much as anyone else's, Thane."

Thane provided a thankful nod to the commander before activating the omni-tool on his right arm. Seconds later, a third, smaller path parallel to the first appeared highlighted on the map. "EDI's scans indicated a ventilation shaft follows alongside the primary route, just large enough for a single person to walk through. If a tech expert can manage to traverse it, they could reach the emergency terminal and hack into the doors. Once done, they will be able to exit the shaft through a nearby vent."

Shepard crossed his arms, skeptical of the assassin's intentions, not his idea. "And I assume you're volunteering?"

"Of course," Thane admitted without a hint of hesitation.

"That's practically a suicide mission." The commander shook his head. "The Collectors will block the route off with section seals and begin overheating the shaft as soon as they discover someone is in there."

"Shepard," the assassin retorted with a certain acceptance in his voice. "I am already dying. Thanks to you, I have been lucky enough to speak with my son a final time and bring a little light into the world before the end of my life. I could not ask for a better death if it means you will succeed in your mission."

The spectre sighed. "I'm not sending you to die, Thane. You _will_ see Kolyat again if I have any say in the matter." At that moment, Shepard shifted his gaze to the only individual, if it could be called that, he absolutely knew for a fact could get the job done without suffering the ultimate sacrifice. The only soldier in the room that was almost guaranteed to be a better hacker than even Tali. "Legion, you can hack through damn near anything and you don't need to worry about the heightened temperatures as much as an organic. You're going into the shaft."

The Geth platform's optical headlight looked at Shepard and nodded. The synthetic never displayed any form of body language other than the plates atop its head, which would sometimes move and shift at the rare times Legion showed very slight emotional reactions that were normally unusual for his kind. This time, however, no such movements occurred. "Acknowledged," was the only response the Geth provided in its robotic voice.

The commander straightened his back again and spared glances at everyone surrounding the table, his gaze holding on Tali a little longer than the others. No one other than him could tell, but she wanted to say something. Her eyes, which stared right back into his, said as much. If she was not going to speak up now, she surely would at some point after the briefing, but before departing. "Now that we have a decent plan put together, are there any questions?" The majority of the group shook their heads or verbally spoke 'no' or 'negative'.

Miranda, however, took the opportunity. "Who will be the squad leaders, commander?" She spoke with the face of her usual cold and determined self, but there was clearly intent in her eyes.

"No so fast." Jack, the biotic convict, glared at Miranda with a malicious stare. As per standing orders, she too was wearing the standard issue Cerberus marine armor, her tattoo covered body hidden from view. "Nobody wants to take orders from the cheerleader."

Shepard noticed Garrus shake his head as he stood behind Jack, opposing the idea just the same. He could not help but chuckle quietly under his helmet. "Squad assignments are same as always. Jacob has Tomahawk and Garrus will be in command of Spearhead, effectively leading Team 2 as the highest in command." He shot a stare at Jack and then to Miranda. "Miranda will have Whiplash, while I'll be leading King. With that being said, we all know who is in charge. _Understood_?" His last question came out more a sharp statement than anything else.

The two bickering women stood straight and replied in unison. "Yes, commander."

"Good. It's settled then." Shepard slowly looked around the room again. He focused his attention to every face of the people he had come to respect and care for. A small voice in the back of his mind was yelling at him, saying he might have gotten too close. Especially to one Quarian woman in particular. He did not regret his relationships, but he simply thought, at that very instance, they might come back to haunt him if they did not manage to see tomorrow and he somehow did. The spectre shook away that train of thought and began sluggishly pacing at the end of the table.

"I'm not going to stand here and lie to you. This mission is likely to be the toughest all of us have ever faced. Not everyone will have the chance to go home alive at the end of the day." The commander ceased pacing at his original spot and stood at parade rest, never removing his gaze from the eyes of his comrades. "The collectors have stolen hundreds of thousands of people. Men, women, and children. But today, as we stand here at the enemy's gates, it's not important. When we step foot on that station, what matters is this: _Not. One. More_!" He emphasized each of the three words with a chop of his right hand. "That is our primary objective. _That_ is what we can do today! The threat of the Collectors stops here. Their terror ends with us.

They want to know what we can do? What we can achieve? I say we show them everything to the last detail. Let's show them what a band of full spectrum warriors, fighting the good fight, can accomplish together! Because I can bet you this: it will be the last damn thing they see!"


	2. C1) Calm Before the Storm

**Chapter 1**

 **Calm Before the Storm**

Shepard stood by the cargo bay door in silence, watching his platoon of forty-seven Cerberus marines finish final combat preparations at the armory. He still could not help but grin mockingly at the SR2's designers; whoever had the idea of placing the original armory on Deck 2 near the Combat Information Center clearly never worked on a military vessel before. It made absolutely no sense to force ground teams to supply themselves on an entirely different deck from which they depart for a mission from. That illogical problem was immediately fixed by the spectre soon after he first took command of the ship. It was a priority in his eyes and he wasted no time using Cerberus engineers and finances to relocate the entire setup to the cargo deck. Seeing the current situation they now endured, he was more than happy to have made the decision, regardless of the fact any weapons and supplies not strapped down were spaced when one of the pursuing Oculus' shot holes in the sides of the cargo bay.

Even after the entire ordeal with Saren, he still felt awkward in his position as the highest commanding officer. Shepard was a marine, never the captain of a naval vessel. Having a single person be in command of both the ship and its marine contingent felt wrong. One man could never be two places at once; if the spectre was on the ground, he could not command the ship. If he was on the ship, he could not command the ground team. And in the final days of the Collector campaign, his worries proved not to be without good reason. Thanks to what some of his crew considered paranoia, the Collector's surprise attack on the Normandy after the Reaper IFF testing was successfully repelled. Cerberus might not have understood why before that encounter, but Shepard was not going to be reckless enough to test an unknown alien technology, especially that of the Reapers, on the Normandy without docking with a highly secure facility. When the Collector cruiser appeared out of FTL, it met face-to-face with the Illusive Man's personal fleet and the docking station's heavy defenses. It was unfortunate they were not able to completely destroy the vessel, but the prospect of what could have happened had they not sought the security of a dock meant it was a greater victory than most fathomed.

"You seem distracted," said the familiar voice of a woman, synthesized through an electronic vocalizer. The spectre turned to his right to see Tali standing beside him, her arm inches away from brushing against his. He did not realize when she had actually walked up to his side, but a warm smile spread across his face nonetheless. Her beautiful almond shaped eyes, illuminating through the purple visor, stared back into his. "What's on your mind?"

"Thinking of the past," Shepard said truthfully. "Thinking how much more desperate this mission could have been had things not gone the way they did."

Tali noticed his gaze drop through the see-through visor of the N7 breather helmet and gently put her hand on the man's shoulder, returning his eyes to hers. "You shouldn't stress yourself over it, John. It's not healthy."

The commander chuckled and took hold of her hand with his. "Look at you, telling me what is and isn't healthy. It's a bit ironic," he declared teasingly.

Blushing behind her visor, she lightly pushed Shepard in the chest with her free hand, knocking him back a few inches. " _Boshtet_. Keep that up and I'll have to start seriously considering my own health from this point on."

He looked at her with mock disbelief. "You wouldn't _dare_."

"Jonathan Shepard, are you saying you care more about my body than my wellbeing?" The Quarian engineer placed both of her hands on her hips and glared at the spectre with fake anger. "I knew you were a dirty man, but this is a new low."

"Now hear me out," he added as he raised his open hands in surrender. "Of course I care about your wellbeing. Your body _is_ part of that equation, after all."

To that they gleefully laughed and gently came to hold each other in a loving embrace. Eventually they returned to the silence, disturbed only by the background sounds of marines loading their equipment and NCOs occasionally barking out orders or yelling at the screw ups of their troops. Though they stood there for only a minute, arms tightly wrapped around each other, to them it felt like an eternity. At some point, Tali spoke softly into her lover's shoulder. "I don't want to let go." She sounded as if she were on the verge of shedding tears. "I want to stay like this forever."

Shepard could feel her shutter in his arms and he pulled their bodies closer together, sharing his warmth with her own. "Tali..."

"If I let go..." She took a deep, somber breath as a tear stretched down her cheek. "I feel like I'll never get the chance to hold you again."

"Hey..." The spectre lessened his hold only to allow room for his right arm to squeeze between them. He reached his hand under her hood and placed it along the side of her neck where the layer of the environment suit was among the thinnest. At the same time, his other hand came up to his neck, released the helmet clamps, and gradually lifted the armor piece off his head. Shepard knew he was not the most attractive man in the galaxy. In fact, he was very average looking, with short, dark brown hair styled in a clowlick and a nasty scar that cut down from the forehead, across his right eye, and halfway through his cheek. If there was one redeeming factor, however, it was his pair of emerald green eyes. "I'm not going anywhere. I will _never_ leave you."

Tali lowered and shook her head with small, solemn smile. "You don't understand. I never really..." She rested her head on his shoulder again and continued in a low, soft voice. "I haven't told you what it's like for Quarians. How we 'bond' with the ones we love."

Jonathan Shepard suddenly felt ashamed. He had never truly taken the time to consider how topics such as companionship could be different for other species, especially that of the woman he came to love. The spectre pulled away from the embrace and once again locked eyes with Tali. "How is it different? Did I do something wrong?"

She reassuringly put her three-fingered hand on his cheek. "No, not at all! Well, maybe a little... but we are both at fault for that." The Quarian sighed a little annoyingly as she tried to find the words to explain what was on her mind. After a few moments, she finally managed to find something to say, her eyes never leaving his. "Many Humans often have several partners throughout their lives, right?" She waited for him to nod before continuing. "Well, it's different for my people. Quarians very rarely have more than one lover in their life. We don't 'choose' our partners; we 'mate' with them."

Shepard's face gradually displayed more confusion as he continued to think about her explanation. "I... don't really understand."

" _Keelah_ , it's not something easily explained." Tali gently played with his lips with her pointer finger. "Imagine the emotional and physical attraction you feel when in love, times ten. The _need_ to be with your partner. When we fall in love, we do so for life. Because after spending enough time together, the 'bonding' doesn't allow us to be with anyone else."

The commander spent the next long moments giving what she said serious thought. Eventually, he gave a small nod and responded. "I think I'm starting to understand."

"Good." Tali pulled the spectre into another embrace, a hug stronger than the last. A few seconds in he began to feel her shake in his arms, but before he could say anything she spoke instead. "John... if I die today, you will probably move on with time. You'll eventually find love again, even if it takes years."

Shepard tried to pull back to the words, but her grip stopped him. "That's not..."

She interrupted him almost immediately. "You know it's true, so don't lie to me. That's just how you Humans are."

A pained expression of gloom was on the commander's face. "Not all of us," he mumbled just loud enough for her to hear.

The Quarian finally loosened her grasp, allowing him to take a single step back, and slowly shook her head before bringing both of her hands to the man's cheeks. "I am already bonded to you, my dear _Saera_. If you were to die without me... I don't think I will be able to go on."

To these words, Shepard's eyes widened in fear and his hands shot up to her arms. "What are you saying," he asked warily.

Tali hesitated to answer. "I will do everything in my power to finish the mission if you don't make it. But after everything has come and gone... I would rather take my life than live on without you." As she spoke the last words, she was no longer able to hold in her emotions and tears quickly began running down her cheeks.

The spectre could not see it through the purple shaded visor, but he had long spent enough time with her to know when she was crying. He clung onto her like their lives depended on it and whispered in her ear. "No... that _can't_ happen. It will be a cold day in hell before that happens."

—

Garrus collapsed his M-92 Mantis sniper rifle and slid it onto the magnetic locks on his back, all the while shaking his head with what Turians pulled off as a smirk. His best friend and the Quarian girl he considered to be a second sister. The two love birds ‒ a human term ‒ hiding in the back of the cargo bay, ignoring everyone else's worries, was both a humorous and, quite frankly, adorable sight. _Adorable_. That was most definitely not a word often used to describe Jonathan Shepard, savior of the Citadel. Tali'Zorah, maybe, but not him. And here he was, Garrus Vakarian using it anyways. He could not help but feel the utmost happiness for the two people he considered his closest friends, even if he did want to vomit from time to time due to the sheer amount of physical contact shared between them. Nothing erotic, but by the spirits, they seriously needed a room and several days of leave. It was excessive. They could never go on for more than five minutes without holding themselves in each other's arms. The Normandy's all powerful Commander Shepard was starting to look like a deprived schoolkid. Tali, even worse, was seeming more akin to a cat in heat. Another Human saying.

The former C-SEC officer noticed movement to his left and instantly turned to see Mordin Solus, the Salarian scientist and doctor, walking up to him. He had a large smile spread across his face. "Love, a powerful motivator," he said in regards to Shepard and Tali after he stopped at Garrus' side. As per usual, he spoke at a speed nearly too fast for most to keep up with. "Brings out great strength and emotions not normally seen in its absence. Many wars in history fought over love. No doubt Shepard and Miss Zorah fight for similar reasons." He took a deep, but hasty breath and his smile faded during the brief pause. "Fear horrible consequences should one perish without the other. Indeed, would be very tragic."

The grin on Garrus' face turned into a half smile as he continued to sit on the large ammunition crate beneath him, quietly and carefully watching the two lovers in the distance. "I'm sure they'll be okay. The Collector's already killed Shepard once, and all that did was piss him off. And Tali's got her shotgun. Yeah, they'll be fine. Not even the Reapers can stop them when those two are together."

Mordin's smile returned and his gaze shifted to the Turian. "Do you seek companionship as well?" Before a response could be made, he hastily continued his train of thought. "Not surprising, Turians can be very intimate under tough façade. Perhaps would have found partner had not spent large quantity of time calibrating Normandy guns. Possibly even notice Miss Goto's unusual attraction."

Garrus nearly coughed on air when he processed Mordin's last statement. "What," he asked incredulously.

The Salarian, however, either ignored his sudden shock or simply did not notice it. "Yes, very unfortunate. Vakarian an excellent Turian specimen, with obvious exception of facial scarring."

"Alright, doctor, I get the idea," Garrus declared aloud with a hand raised in surrender. "We can all agree I'm a lonely Turian."

"On the contrary, hold great respect with Normandy crew. Even admiration." Mordin looked back to Shepard and Tali, the two now holding each other's arms and talking about one thing or another. "Better yet, have Shepard and Miss Zorah as close friends. The two will stand with you for more adventures to come."

The ex-vigilante chuckled at the Salarian's optimism and shrugged. "I guess I'm stuck with them. Could be worse." A few moments later, he turned to Mordin with a questioning gaze. "Have you ever... you know, had an experience with the opposite gender? I know Salarians don't have sex drives like other races, but..." He left the question at that.

Mordin looked back at the Turian with an enthusiastic smile, clearly pleased in the Turian's sudden interest. "Indeed. In fact, had especially memorable occasion on Omega. With an Asari."

Garrus was honestly a little surprised and crossed his arms. "Really? How did that turn out?"

"Let's just say..." Mordin's voice suddenly changed to something similar to a noir detective's, his smile having spread into a smirk the former C-SEC officer had never seen on the scientist. "I broke Omega's one and only rule. In more ways than one." No more than a few seconds later did the Salarian begin walking away towards the nearest weapons locker to collect and prepare his own equipment, leaving a very stunned Turian staring at his back with wide eyes and a slacked jaw.

—

Private First Class Nathan Kennedy, Cerberus marine of Bravo squad serving aboard the Normandy SR2, felt like an ant about to be crushed under the weight of a sledgehammer. The reptilian eyes of the Krogan warrior standing in front of him seemed to pierce into the depths of his soul, belittling his very existence. Of all the people and aliens on Shepard's team of deadly individuals, Grunt had to be his fire team's NCO. As if Humans and Turians were not bad enough in that position, the Krogan had all the qualities of an average staff sergeant plus the crazy bloodthirstiness of his species. It made training and combat prep an absolute nightmare for the marines under his command.

"Do I scare you, human," Grunt asked in an unnervingly calm voice as he stood inches from Kennedy's face. He never bothered using his marines' names when he felt they did not deserve it.

The marine was standing in attention and keeping his gaze straight, trying to imagine the nearly seven feet worth of Krogan was glass. Easier said than done. "No, Staff Sergeant!"

Grunt angrily and loudly growled in the man's face. "You reek of _fear_! Why, Human?"

"Because I have over three hundred pounds of Krogan standing in front of me, Staff Sergeant!" Sweat began to accumulate on the marine's forehead and neck. He swore at any moment he was about to be clocked out by an unstoppable punch. When it did not come, however, he sighed in relief.

A disgusted sneer escaped through Grunt's breath as he stomped backwards by several feet, preparing to address all five of his fire team's members. "If you pyjaks fear me, then I should throw all of you on Tuchanka and feed you to the varrens! We don't disgrace our battle master with _fear_. We show him we deserve to be part of his _Krantt_ by drinking the blood of our enemies!" He roared powerfully, gaining the attention of almost every person in the cargo bay, as he punched his fists together.

"Yes, Staff Sergeant," Kennedy and the other four marines to his right and left yelled back in unison.

"Imagine that is your clan inside the base of our battle master's enemies! Believe it is your mates and offspring! Will you be afraid, or will you be _angry_?!"

At that moment, when Kennedy imagined it was his family being held by the Collectors, something clicked inside his head. It was like a hidden switch that could only be activated under the most specific of circumstances was finally flipped on. And the image of his mother, father, and sister being experimented on by the insect-looking bastards was the necessary trigger. His blood felt like it was boiling under his skin and every emotion besides rage and hatred was tossed out of his mind. In less than a few seconds, PFC Nathan Kennedy and his four fellow marines were no longer afraid. They were impassioned as their newfound fury bellowed out a mutual eruption. " _Angry_ , Staff Sergeant!"

—

"If there is one thing Grunt excels at besides killing things in the most creative ways possible, it is riling up a group of Human marines with a bloodthirstiness you would normally only see in a pack of Krogan berserkers." Samara had just finished fitting into her armor when the outburst of Grunt's troops echoed throughout the deck. It was a custom design of the standard issue Justicar armor set, ordinated by a similar color scheme to her normal crimson clothing. It appeared like any other lightweight Human/Asari armor, only it carried the addition of several biotic based modifications and completely lacked a helmet. "With time, he may become a far greater leader than even he likely believes."

"I don't think the Dinosaur's gonna be leading armies any time soon," Jack snorted. "But fucking with a man's head before a battle always works. That adrenaline can keep you alive." Samara eyed the ex-convict, forcing a sigh out of her. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry."

"You have been making great progress, whether you see it or not." Though she did not show it, the Asari Justicar was proud of the human biotic. Since her arrival aboard the Normandy, Samara noticed the woman's potential almost immediately and took her in as a student. Besides teaching Jack to hone her powers and emotions through meditation, she further served as a counselor for the human and her afflicted past. The woman could still use much to learn in her use of language, but otherwise she had improved dramatically as both a biotic user and an overall person. "Don't stray from the path now."

"No promises when the bullets start flying." Jack kicked a torched scrap of metal lying on the floor with a grunt, sending the piece flying about twenty feet in the direction of the empty space leading to the back of the cargo bay. When she looked up from where it landed, a wicked grin spread across her face under the combat helmet now encompassing her head. "Buckethead and poster boy." She shook her head not in disapproval, but in place of a chuckle. "Their lovey-dovey bullshit makes me sick."

"Jack..."

Samara was cut off almost immediately. "Dammit, I know. The hazing can wait until after we're done kicking the living shit out of the Collectors." The biotic chose that moment to walk back to the company of her own designated squad, eliciting a final sigh from the Justicar.

—

"Jacob, get over here and help me with these fucking launchers." The thick, gruffy voice of Zaeed Massani echoed from the corner of the cargo bay to the right of the elevator. The mercenary was carrying two long, rectangular weapon crates over each of his shoulders, both held in position by his arms and hands wrapped around them.

The dark skinned man approached without hesitation or objection, now too wearing the white and gold of the standard Cerberus combat armor. Though he technically outranked the aging veteran, he never dared to directly order him around. He did, however, wonder why the mercenary never forced anyone else in the squad to aid him with the dirty work. "The Commander said to bring AT?"

Zaeed grunted, visibly showing a bit of disbelief. "You're guddamn right he did! Those Praetorian pricks are armored like tanks! We get two launchers for each squad."

That meant the Cerberus marine needed to grab two additional crates. He nodded in acknowledgement and began walking to the weapon cache in the back most part of the armory. "I'll go get them."

"Hurry your ass," the mercenary declared. Jacob thought it was his imagination, but he swore the man bared the faintest hint of a smirk. "We don't have all day. Marines to command. Collectors to kill."

Jacob could not suppress a laugh as he found the nearest rocket launcher crates and tossed them over his shoulders in the same fashion as his companion. "I'd hate to be the poor bastard standing in your way, old man."

Zaeed turned around in his custom yellow armor to face the Cerberus marine as if taken aback, a humored smile stretched across the heavily scarred face. "Just because I was gutting Krogan warlords when your mum was still changing your diapers doesn't mean I'm old. It means you're just a guddamn kid playing cowboy."

"But at least I'm still young."

"You know what they say," the mercenary countered before turning to continue transporting his cargo. "Age before wisdom, kid."

—

Safeties were off and weapons were hot. A nervous silence for the coming storm engulfed the entirety of the cargo bay as all four squads of Normandy's marine contingent prepared for the final departure. They all stood in formation and at the ready, guns up and aimed at the large bay door in anticipation for the moment it opens to reveal the world outside the safety of the ship. Shepard felt an eerie chill crawl up his spawn, but a three-digit hand placed itself on his shoulder before the effects of the rising nervousness could take hold. He glanced behind him to lock gazes with Tali, her glowing, almond shaped eyes the greatest comfort he could ask for. With a hand canon in her other hand, she gave a single brief nod before releasing her touch.

"Alright," he began softly before quickly raising in volume. "Open the door." On cue, the cargo bay door began steadily lowering. When it finally touched down on the surface of Collector station's outer hull, the commander did not hesitate to proceed passing down orders. "Spearhead and Tomahawk, set up a three-sixty the second you get outside. We're Oscar Mike as soon as we secure the area and the door closes behind us. This is it, ladies and gentlemen! I'll see you in the field!" With the most trustworthy group of friends beside him and the love of his life standing at his side, Commander Jonathan Shepard took the first step off the ramp.

 _ **Index**_

 _ **NCO: N** on- **C** ommissioned **O** fficer. A military officer who has not earned a commission. In the English-speaking world, they normally obtain their position of authority by promotion through the enlisted ranks. Ex. Sergeants, Staff Sergeants, etc._

 ** _Three-Sixty:_** _A specific form of a military defensive formation. Also called an 'All-Around Defence'. Consists of soldiers forming a wide, circular perimeter around the highest-ranking individual._

 ** _IFF:_** _**I** dentification, **F** riend or **F** oe. An identification system designed for command and control. Enables military and civilian interrogation systems to identify aircraft, vehicles, or forces as friendly or hostile._

 _ **FTL: F** aster- **T** han- **L** ight._


	3. C2) Into the Breach

_**A/N: If you find a word, phrase, or acronym you don't know and/or understand, please look at the Index at the end. If there is something you would like me to add to the Index, which hasn't already been added to that of a previous chapter's, by all means please inform me and I will see what I can do.**_

 **Chapter 2**

 **Into the Breach**

The scenery could only be described as something pulled straight out of a horror movie. The walls were a freakish, unnatural mix between metals and some sort of strange organic matter. The sparse lighting along the snake-like corridor emanated from what appeared to be large bundles of bioluminescent orbs strapped to the ceiling. Every hundred feet or so, the marines would come across a human cadaver, having long been left to decay in the darker parts of the passageway. From the few scans Mordin managed to perform, he discovered they suffered through intensive genetic experimentation.

"I don't like this, Commander," admitted the nervous voice of a marine near the back of the staggered column formation. His noticeable accent was of Southern North America origin. "It's like the bugs want us to see the bodies."

Shepard grunted in agreement. The distances between each corpse they found were almost exact every time. Too perfect for a mere coincidence. Conjuncture was someone, or something, had intentionally placed them in a pattern for his crew to see. A constant reminder of what the Collectors meant to do to them if they failed. "Psychological warfare. Don't think about it." Before a response could be made, the spectre raised his index and middle finger to the right ear piece of his helmet to activate the built in communicator. "This is King, calling all squads for radio check on Command Net, frequency 37.4."

Garrus' voice was the first to reply. " _Spearhead Actual, radio check on 37.4._ "

"Lima Charlie," was the short acknowledgement for 'loud and clear' from the commander. Miranda for Whiplash and Jacob for Tomahawk, in that order, soon radioed in by similar means. "Solid copy on all squads," Shepard said once the command wide radio check was complete. "Coms are five-by-five. All squad leaders are to proceed to their objectives. I want a sitrep on Command Net every thirty mikes. King out."

The commander pressed down on a switch at the back of his helmet's earpiece, immediately expecting the voice of his Turian friend on his personal com channel. " _I'll see you at the rendezvous, John_ ," Garrus said, the formalities of radio procedure temporarily forgotten. " _If you die on the way, the Spirits won't stop me from kicking your ass._ "

An enthusiastic laugh broke through Shepard's helmet, but it was quiet enough that no one else, besides maybe Tali ten yards back, should have been able to hear. "Drinks on you when this is over?"

" _We make it out alive, I'll buy you a dozen lap dances at Chora's Den._ " The spectre spared a glance behind him with the Turian's latest statement to see Tali slightly tighten her grip on her shotgun.

Now sure she was eavesdropping, a devious smirk spread across his face. "Make that another dozen at Omega and we got ourselves a deal." To that, the Quarian nearly tripped over her own feet.

A chuckle escaped the Turian, apparently getting the idea Tali was listening in as well. " _You play a hard bargain, Commander. Deal._ "

Shepard laughed, this time loud enough for a few other surrounding marines to hear. He ignored their confused and questioning stares and after a few moments began to reassure his chief engineer. "Don't worry about it. There's plenty of free dances waiting for me once this is all over. Right, Tali?" Though he did not look back, he could almost feel her cheeks turn red.

" _I have a shotgun,_ Boshtet," she said with both embarrassment and affection.

"Love you too." The commander was wearing a warm smile under the helmet. He knew it might very well be the last cheerful conversation he had with the people he considered family, but that did not affect his attitude.

However, before Shepard, Garrus, or Tali could say another word, the shout of his point-man, fifteen yards away at the front of the formation, ended their brief moment of joy. " _Mine!_ " The marine, who the commander knew was the NCO of his squad's second fireteam, barely finished the announcement and turned to run back before a sudden explosive burst erupted near his feet. A plume of smoke and fire engulfed the man and blocked him from sight as Shepard watched, thanks to his cybernetics, several pieces of shrapnel plunge into the female marine standing on the opposite side of the corridor. A few pieces of metal debris flying at high speed towards him as well just scantily missed his stomach and right shoulder. When the majority of the smoke cloud cleared after several seconds, the horrific screams of the woman who was hit by the fragmentation filled the space. The explosive device's primary victim was dead quiet.

Immediately reacting to the situation as hastily as he could, the spectre switched his communicator to the short range frequency belonging to his squad. "Corpsman up! Rodriquez, Jack, Freedman, double time it to the front! Everyone else, take cover and watch your sectors!" Shepard knew what was coming next. He had been through the same scenario in dozens of different situations and he understood exactly what that explosion most likely represented: the beginning of an ambush.

As if reading his mind, and confirming the commander's fear, Husks and Collector drones began appearing from around the corners of an intersection approximately forty yards ahead. The synthetic, grey-blue, humanoid monstrosities rushed the marines like a pack of ravenous zombies while the foot soldiers behind them brought down an effective suppressing fire. "Contact front," yelled the young voice of Private Freedman. Several bullets rattled and destroyed his shields before he managed to get behind some kind of chest-high crate, one of several sprawled across the floor. The Husks were already within ten yards before Jack was able to rise from cover and send a shockwave down the corridor, decimating the first wave of the vile Reaper creations. Still more came as the Collectors continued to spit out accurate fire.

Shepard slid across to the opposite wall on the left side of the passageway, taking a few hits to his shields in the process, and came to a stop next to Mordin and the injured female marine. He had just finished pulling out a large piece of metallic shrapnel out of the woman's shoulder and was now administering a dose of medi-gel to the wound. At least half of a dozen other red hot fragments, some larger and others smaller, were still lodged inside her armor, having penetrated deep into flesh. Her screams of pain were still audible over the extensive sounds of intense close-quarters combat. "How is she, Doc," the commander asked the scientist. Mordin was classified as a corpsman, or more specifically a SARC due to his large range of experience and STG training, when in combat situations. Just as it was for the rest, protocol dictated he be referred to as 'Doc' when spoken to.

"Shrapnel missed vitals. Lucky. Will live if survive mission." The salarian ripped out another metal fragment, eliciting further cries from the marine under his care.

The spectre simply nodded before raising his hand to his earpiece. "Legion, what's your status in the shaft?" He yelled over the discharges of weapons and explosives as best he could, even though the receiving end would most likely only hear his voice thanks to his helmet.

A reply came in less than a few seconds. " _We are currently located within twenty-five meters of your position, Shepard-Commander_ ," deadpanned the Geth's synthetic voice. " _Internal temperature increasing, but within optimal range._ "

Shepard peeked over his cover and watched as Jack shot out another shockwave into an additional grouping of approaching husks. She bellowed out a set of profanities while Rodriguez lobbed a grenade overhead with a loud 'frag out,' catching a couple Collector drones about thirty yards down the passageway. The commander dipped back to the ground beside Mordin and returned his fingers to his communicator. "Any problems I should be made aware of?"

" _Affirmative_ ," Legion admitted nonchalantly. " _A closed ventilation seal has been detected approximately fifty meters ahead. We cannot access the controls from within the shaft and will require external assistance from a nearby terminal._ "

Fifty meters. Given the Geth platform's estimated distance, that meant the terminal in question was right on top of the Collector's position. _Of course_ , Shepard thought. _It makes sense_. The Collectors apparently knew the spectre would send someone into the shaft and with that information set up an ambush and defensive perimeter around the necessary terminal. Before he could snicker at the cleverness of the enemy, however, the Command Net of his radio roared to life. " _Whiplash to King, we've engaged a large number of foot mobiles at our rear."_ Miranda's voice was laced with a controlled frustration. " _They are pushing us back towards you and we're running out of room to maneuver! I've already lost three marines!_ "

"Roger, Whiplash." The commander spoke with a trained calmness that could only be obtained through years of military service and combat experience. "We've encountered an ambush and are currently under heavy fire by an entrenched enemy force. We will advance on their position and try to give you some breathing room. How copy?"

" _Solid copy your last, King. Whiplash out._ "

" **I WILL DIRECT THIS PERSONALLY.** " The familiar deadpan that suddenly echoed from down the corridor was coarse and impersonal. It seemed to call for the coming of the angel of death himself, it's sheer presence a vanguard for destruction.

Any other person would have associated the voice to that of a demon's, but Shepard knew the truth all too well. He had heard the voice of the apocalypse before. He knew who it truly belonged to. "Well, shit," he mumbled with a glimpse above cover. Within the group of Collector drones, it was all too easy to distinguish the deathly glow of Harbinger's control. The yellow, beaming eyes, for a split second, seemed to stare back into the spectre's soul. "Eyes on Harbinger!" He could not maintain a visual for long due to the heavy fire from both sides, being reminded of the fact when a stray bullet whizzed centimeters over his head with a loud _CRACK_.

"Shit," Jack yelled aloud as she dished out another shockwave. "Our friendly neighborhood fucking Reaper!"

"Tali!" The commander looked back across the thirteen-yard-wide passageway to see the Quarian fire a few rounds of blindfire with her hand cannon from behind a crate. She immediately returned her arm and weapon to cover with the call of her name before glancing over to him. "Forty mike-mike, down the hall, now!" She acknowledged the order with a nod and reached for the M-100 grenade launcher attached to the magnetic holster on her back. Shepard then returned to his communicator and spoke to the entire squad. "All units, return suppressing fire!"

In an instant, every available marine in King squad stood up from behind cover in compliance and began pouring erroneous rounds down range at the Collectors. After several seconds of this and a couple more marines taking their final fall, the enemy fire became noticeably lessened. As soon as she felt it was as safe as it could be, Tali raised to her feet with grenade launcher in hand and finger on the trigger. No sooner did she unleash a barrage of forty-millimeter high-explosive grenades down the passageway, firing a total of twelve in bursts of four with each fired round accompanied by a loud _FLOOMP_. There was only a half-second delay before the first grenade detonated and it was hastily followed by the devastating volleys behind it. Explosion after explosion racked the Collector defense, turning it into a bloody massacre and covering their position with fire and metallic debris.

Shepard poked his head out of cover with the sound of the final detonation. Though the rest of his squad were continuing to litter the corridor, he eventually took notice of the complete lack of return fire from the enemy. "Cease fire," he ordered as he stood up completely to his feet. The commander raised his right hand to head height, his M-8 Avenger hanging from a single-point sling, and swung his forearm up and down over his face with the open palm faced outward. "I repeat, cease fire!" Once the firing died down and the corridor fell into an eerie silence, he returned his right hand to the pistol grip of his rifle and refocused his attention down the passageway.

Everything over thirty yards ahead was blanketed by a black, opaque smoke. The grisly stench of burnt flesh and scorched metal lingered in the air, even when filtered through the spectre's breather. After waiting over a dozen seconds with the only sounds being of Whiplash squad's ongoing firefight sixty yards behind, he looked over his shoulder to see Mordin Solus finishing his aid on the injured female marine. She was now asleep, having been rendered unconscious by a sedative supplied by the doctor. Shepard then looked over his squad members and assessed the situation. Out of an original head count of twelve, five marines were now either wounded or killed after the day's first contact with the enemy. With a frustrated breath through his nose, he raised his open hand again and chopped at the air in front of him as if he was cutting a carrot. The squad acknowledged the visual signal for a staggered column by moving to their appropriate positions against the walls. Taking point, the commander brought his forearm up over his shoulder and swung it forward to a horizontal angle three times, signaling his marines to advance.

Shepard walked forward at a slow, step-by-step pace while keeping his M-8 aimed ahead and at the ready. His marines did the same as they vigorously kept watch of their sectors and maintained an equal speed. No form of verbal communication was used. They simply kept their eyes on the sights and fingers on the triggers. " **YOU ARE MERELY DELAYING THE INEVITABLE.** " Before anyone could register the soul-crushing voice, an orb of black, luminescent energy shot out from the smoke ahead. It crashed into the chest of the marine standing diagonally behind Shepard on the opposite wall and ignited his entire body in flames. The man erupted into a fit of harrowing shrieks that filled the entire space of the corridor as he dropped his rifle and knees to the floor. His hands and arms strenuously began patting and rubbing over his limbs in an act of futility, his body twisting and jerking in unnatural angles. Shortly after, the form of a Collector drone appeared from the behind the cloud, its eyes and biotic aura burning in the yellow glow of Harbinger's command. " **WE ARE YOUR GENETIC DESTINY, SHEPARD**."

—

"I. Am. KROGAN!" The tank-bred Krogan bellowed loud and defiant, knocking the nearest Collector drone off its feet and tossing it five yards back with a blast of his heavy Claymore shotgun. A splash of golden yellow collector blood sprayed his face, evoking a wide, euphoric grin from the alien warrior. He elicited another roar before turning back into cover, the smile never leaving him.

PFC Kennedy thought Grunt was absolutely mad. Then again, he figured all of the lizard-like alien's kind were absolutely out of their bloody minds. Not the fondest of traits either when their bodies were virtually indestructible, biological tanks. That fact was made worse when they were coupled with their additional suits of armor and even the occasional use of biotics. Kennedy could not help but thank the God almighty himself every single day that the beast was on their side. And thanked the lord again he was not born a Turian during the Krogan rebellions. "Times like these I'm happy Grunt's our NCO," he yelled aloud as he tossed a grenade over the crate he used as cover. "He knows how to the kick the livin' shyt out of those Collector bastards!"

Two bursts of rapid automatic fire from Kennedy's left passed before a response came, the man in question being the fire team's Automatic Rifleman responsible for use of their single M-76 Revenant LMG. "You gonna keep sitting there yappin' off or you gonna join in the ass kicking too?" The marine, Corporal Edward Jackson, spoke mockingly in his thick, North American city accent.

"I've been doin' my share of fightin'," Nathan shot back as he slightly rose out of cover for a fraction of a second to fire off a short burst from his rifle. "I just don't plan on losin' my damn head!"

A humored laugh broke free from the AR's helmet, though he did not train his gaze away from the Collectors in front of him. He continued to fire bursts of rounds down range just as he was trained, his weapon rested on the crate with its open bipod. For the most part, he was simply pouring down suppressive fire as was his primary job as an AR, but sometimes he would hone in some more accurate fire and take down one or two of the insect-like bastards. "You damn Brits always did like watching from the sidelines."

Kennedy knew the man was just busting his chops and trying getting him to fight a little harder. He could almost see the smirk on Jackson's face under the helmet covering it. "Shut ya trap, yee bloody Yank! I'm fuckin' Irish," he declared as he got up from cover again, this time remaining a much longer time to fire several long bursts. He continued bickering immediately when he returned behind the crate. "American igits, all bloody warmongers! No better than the damn Krogan if yee ask me!"

A loud yelp of pain and anger suddenly erupted from the marine's left and he immediately turned to see the form of Jackson now laying on the ground, right hand pressing down hard on his left shoulder covered in thick red blood. "Son of a..." the AR cried out. " _Fuck_!"

"Corpsman up," Kennedy yelled out to anyone in ear shot. He hastily dropped down beside his companion, placed his M-8 on the floor, and moved both of his hands to the corporal's wound to provide additional pressure. It was bleeding heavily and the PFC knew nothing about first aid instructions beside the basic use of medi-gel. The only personnel equipped with the medical apparatus, however, were the corpsman.

Jackson, however, was having none of it and slapped the helping hands away. "Get off me!" This caused Kennedy to stagger, completely dumbfounded, but the corporal quickly continued to elaborate. "Grab my gun and shoot those sons a' bitches!"

"But-"

"Don't worry about me!" A feint half smile formed on the AR's face. "It ain't as bad as it looks. Doc will take care of it." His smile quickly extinguished and he nodded in the direction of his M-76, the LMG still sitting atop the metal crate they had continued to use for cover since first taking enemy contact. "Now get to it, you Irish prick!"

" _Private Kennedy_ ," loudly echoed a voice through Nathan's communicator. He recognized it as the distinct voice of Garrus Vakarian, accompanied by that metallic reverberation common among his species. " _Highway will be at your position in a moment. Now if you don't man that gun right now, I will personally shove its barrel so far up your ass you'll be shitting Revenant rounds for the rest of your life! Do I make myself clear_?"

A cold chill climbed up the PFC's spine. He knew full well the Turian was not very far from being completely serious and, if he somehow survived the day, he did not look forward to suffering under the team leader's wrath when they returned from the mission. " _Crystal_ , sir!"

With a pained expression and after the briefest of hesitations to leave his comrade without immediate aid, Kennedy pulled himself back up in a position behind the M-76. Remembering the way his time in training taught him how to properly hold a bipod-mounted LMG, he pressed the enormous weapon's stock against his shoulder and placed his open left hand on top of it as his right took hold of the pistol grip. _Short, controlled bursts,_ he reminded himself a final time before pulling the trigger.

 _BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM_

The sheer size of the rounds the M-76 Revenant fired made the LMG sound and feel more like an auto-cannon than the average firearm. Before the marine could even finish the first burst, its ridiculously heavy recoil nearly caused it to break free from his hands and he could already tell the force of the kick was going to leave his shoulder all bruised up. _Kicks like a mule!_ He only now recalled what his old drill instructor used to elaborate so aggressively and why. The damn gun was most definitely not usable in untrained hands. Furthurmore, Kennedy was not the largest of Human men. His shorter than average size was, in fact, the very reason he was never assigned the AR position. But now was not the time for contemplation. He knew what he needed to do. Bruises were the least of his worries. Now was the time to kill Collectors.

"Fuck me!" Jackson's cry once again brought the PFC's attention away from the enemy. "Doc Highway's down!"

Kennedy instantly turned his gaze to the right once the words registered. Lying face down on the floor in the middle of the corridor was a still female body, the red cross painted like a patch on the shoulder plate of her armor clarifying it was truly HM2 Samantha Highway. A one-inch sized hole was burned through her combat helmet and a large pool of blood was already accumulating around her upper torso. There was no doubt about it: she was dead, clearly having bit the big one while trying to maneuver to them. "She's gone," he verbally confirmed for his companion to hear.

"Yeah, no shit!" Panic was beginning to become apparent in Jackson's voice. "She took a fucking bullet to the head, man! Saw that shit with my own eyes!" His right hand was still pressing down on his left shoulder, but the blood continued to gush out from the injury without any sign of yielding soon. The wound was bad. The bullet that hit him must have shot right through an artery or something of the like. And without immediate medical attention or medi-gel... "I-" he began after a long pause and another burst of fire from the M-76. He spoke more quietly this time, but it was with a voice of anguish. "I don't wanna die here, Nate." Kennedy turned to his fellow marine just as the man finished pulling off his helmet to reveal the tears welling around his dark brown eyes. "I can't go out like this."

"Don't go off and yellin' that nonsense! You're not goin' to die, mate!" The PFC quickly looked forward to fire another burst before turning back. "Doc Kristiansen's still up. He'll be here!"

"It's all over the place, man! I-I'm bleeding everywhere!" Jackson was now beginning to shake, true distress and fear now taken control. "It won't stop coming out!" He seemed to try increasing the pressure on the wound with his hand, but if there was any difference in his blood loss it was not apparent.

Kennedy was at a complete loss of words. There was just nothing he could think of to help ease his companion emotionally and there was certainly nothing he could do medically. After a short moment of silence between the two marines, with the exception of the ongoing firefight and Jackson's continued moans of pain and agony, Nathan simply decided to turn straight and focus on the one and only thing he can do. Fight. "Yee won't die," he mumbled as he pulled the trigger.

 ** _Index_**

 ** _Actual:_** _Callsign used by a military commander or leader in radio chatter to indicate the acting commander is speaking instead of a subordinate under his command._

 ** _Mike:_** _When used alone, is a short, military word/slang for minute. Sometimes worded as "mic"._

 ** _Five-By-Five:_** _A radio communications expression that means 'loud and clear'. One of the fives represents the S units of reception strength. The other five is a rating of the signal clarity._

 _ **SARC:** **S** pecial **A** mphibious **R** econnaissance **C** orpsman. In the real world, are United States Navy Hospital Corspman trained and specialized in the same aspects of their Recon Marine and special operator counterparts: amphibious entry, deep recon, and direct action. They are also capable of conducting detailed underwater ship-bottom searches. During operational status, the teams will then be dispersed evenly throughout the Marine recon platoons; usually one amphibious recon corpsman per platoon._

 ** _Forty Mike-Mike:_** _Short for "40 millimeter grenade". Used also as a label for any weapon that fires it, such as (in the the real world) a M203 Grenade Launcher or (for the USMC) Mark-19 Automatic 40mm Grenade Launcher._

 ** _PFC:_** _**P** rivate **F** irst **C** lass._

 ** _LMG:_** _**L** ight **M** achine **G** un._

 ** _AR:_** _**A** utomatic **R** ifleman. A member of a fireteam designated and trained, typically, with the use of an automatic support weapon such as a LMG._

 ** _HM1/2/3:_** _Navy Hospital Corpsman First Class/Second Class/Third Class. HM1 (Hospital Corpsman First Class) is the highest ranking of the three._


	4. Final Note

**Hello readers of Day of Fire!**

 **I hate to be the bringer of such news, but it's unavoidable: I won't be adding more to the short story that is DOF. As to why I won't be, that is because I will, instead, be working on a much larger, more ambitious project. That project being Mass Effect: The Hunt**

 **If you like Day of Fire, the idea behind it and the direction it takes, you will definitely enjoy The Hunt. Its story is, essentially, the first part of a major retelling of the ME games. Much like DOF, however, its setting takes place in a much more realistic world. It's nitty, gritty, and combat is unforgiving.**

 **My stories, DOF and The Hunt, aim for military realism in the ME universe much like how famous novels such as Starship Troopers (not that horrible excuse of a movie adaptation) do for the sci-fi genre. Commander Shepard is not some lone hero who can take on the world with nothing but the guns on his back and two pals. He is a marine; a Devil Dog to the core. He commands a contingent of other marines on the Normandy and leads them into battle.**

 **My Shepard, at least, isn't some hunk model who gets all the ladies off of looks alone either. He's just an average guy, serving his country/species in the Armed Forces. He has an emotionally disturbing past. His personality is not perfect. Shepard has flaws. He sometimes makes mistakes. Not often, but they happen. Because that is reality. And reality doesn't let you run off into the sunset without taking away a few of your friends.**

 **With DOF and The Hunt, I am not merely retelling the story of Commander Shepard in a new light. I am also telling a military drama. What it's like to be a soldier/marine. What goes through their heads. What it's like to see the men and women you bled alongside die in front of you, sometimes in the worse imaginable ways possible. I'm telling the story of a single man, who simply did his best to do what he felt was right and was not always rewarded for it.**

 **Anyways, I digress. Another reason, just as important as the last, why I am stopping DOF for The Hunt is for understanding and immersion. DOF is, basically, the same story as The Hunt, only it jumps to the ending of ME2. With that in mind, I want to write a story with characters you can actually connect with (or hate). DOF fails at that without a background to support it. You don't know who PFC Kennedy is. Nor do you know who Corporal Jackson is. Why should you care about these marines and the struggle they must endure if you don't know who they are?**

 **And what about the Shepard/Tali romance? That was just blatantly shoved in your face. How are you supposed to connect to that without seeing how it came to be? Sure, you've seen it in the games and, possibly, dozens if not hundreds of other works of fan fiction, but that is so dramatically different from what I'm trying to do here. You may not see it yet like I do, but as I progress through the story of The Hunt you may begin to.**

 **So, without further ado, now that my half apology, half rant is over, I'd like to say farewell to Day of Fire. You were short, sweet and unfinished. But you were mine, dammit, and I love ya all the same! I'm sure I'll revisit you in The Hunt's story when I retell ME2. But until then, goodbye! And hello Mass Effect: The Hunt!**

 **To all you readers, the few of you there are, by all means please visit my profile and head on over to the new story. The prologue and first two chapters are already complete and posted, adding up to a total word count of over 13,000 (when this was written). Hope you enjoy!**


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